Unraveled
by xLabRatx
Summary: April was the person that really helped to keep us together. Her death was like pulling a thread in a rug or a scarf, and watching the whole thing unravel in your hands.


This story just kind of came to me a few months ago. It practically wrote itself. Two of my three best friends/editors cried when they read this. I cried while writing it. Not for the faint of heart! It's told from Mark's pov in case you were wondering.

**Unraveled**

I always found it ironic how we could all remember it so well. We could recall the details as if it were only yesterday. The day we all recall so clearly was when we started to fall apart.

Collins had grown into this new habit of getting up early to go for a walk by himself. He accidentally on purpose tapped my makeshift door with the toe of his boot a few times on his way out. I opened my eyes groggily at the noise. I reached out and groped blindly around on my milk crate nightstand for my glasses. My fingers finally brushed against the smooth frames. I could hear heavy footsteps out in the living room/dining room/kitchen as I closed my fingers around the glasses and pulled them toward me, dragging them tiredly across the plastic surface. I unfolded them and placed them on my face just in time to hear the heavy sliding door roll shut. My room (if you could even call it that) had no windows or clocks, but I knew it was early.

"Goddammit Collins!" I grumbled. He knows that once I wake up in the morning, I don't go to sleep again until that night.

Out of instinct, I rolled over to check on Maureen. When she wasn't there I was confused for a few seconds, until I remembered that she had gone to visit her parents. Now I look back on it and say "Yeah, riiight," but at the time I was pretty naïve when it came to Maureen.

After throwing a few more colourful profanities in Collins' general direction I figured the only thing I could do was get up. I pulled myself out of bed and shuffled over to the stack of crates and boxes that served as a dresser. I rifled through the neatly folded clothes (courtesy of April) until I found a pair of slightly faded jeans and a blue shirt with a red stripe running around the middle. I pulled off my tattered pajamas and yanked on my clean clothes along with a pair of socks. I grabbed the door handle and turned it slowly. I lifted the door a bit in its hinges as I pulled it open, careful not to let it scrape along the floor. I crept out of the room, using the same caution to close the door behind me. As I shuffled out into the main room I paused for a few seconds at the row of hooks on the wall. They supported all our coats; they were being used less and less as the weather got warmer. I reached out for my messenger bag, which was being crowded on either side by both Roger's and April's leather jackets. Some of the hooks were empty; Collins, Maureen, and Benny were all out, the latter having spent the night at Muffy's -er, Allison's.

I slung the bag containing my precious camera over my shoulder as I made my way through the room. It was no where near as messy as it used to be. April had gotten pretty hormonal recently and thus went on a cleaning spree. She must have scrubbed the whole apartment twice over. She cleaned the bathroom at least four times. Over the last couple of days she went around folding all our clothes, making sure we all ate, hounding after Collins to take his AZT. She was acting more like a mother hen than Collins. She also took a particular interest in each individual person on a given day. For example she spent a whole day with me, watching my new footage and giving me creative advice. She even let me film her fooling around, which she never let me do before, she always got camera shy. I got some really nice shots that day, April was so photogenic, and she had the best smile.

Upon reaching the "kitchen" I noticed that Collins had left the coffee on. He had planned on waking me up, how thoughtful. He refused to leave the loft without appointing a responsible substitute to take care of things until his return. That day he picked me.

I glanced at the clock on the "counter". 7:09. Collins usually tried to get out earlier, he must have slept in. I pulled a mug down off the shelf and poured myself a cup of coffee. As I stirred in a bit of milk and sugar I heard a door scrape lightly across the floor. I looked up to see April frozen with her hand on the door handle, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. When neither of us heard Roger swearing, she relaxed a bit.

"Good morning Mark," she said with a smile. It wasn't her usual bright, bubbly smile, but it was genuine. Her eyes were a bit puffy, she had probably been crying the night before. She'd been doing that a lot lately. None of us really knew what was going on.

"Morning April. Did I wake you?" She shook her head. Unlike Roger, who was a real bear in the morning, April was a saint.

"You didn't, Collins did."

"Well that was nice of him. Coffee?" I asked, taking a sip from my mug. She nodded, taking a seat at the collapsible metal table. I took another mug off the shelf and poured her some coffee. I slid the mug across the table; she reached for it, taking it in both her hands.

"Thanks," She took a sip, testing it; none of us liked our coffee on the really hot side. She seemed satisfied and took a larger sip. I never understood how she could drink it black. Milk and sugar were rare; when we didn't have them I just drank tea.

I adjusted the strap on my shoulder, took another swig of coffee and headed out onto the fire escape. I sank down in the corner with my coffee and my camera. As I sipped it I watched people go about their lives down on the street four stories below. I held my camera in my lap; whenever I saw anything interesting I'd lift it up and film through the iron bars.

At about 7:15 April came out to inform me that she was getting into the shower. I happened to be filming a couple walking down the street hand-in-hand. I lowered the camera and began to crank the arm again. I tilted my head back to look at her. She looked distracted, distressed even. At the time I just figured she needed a hit.

"Ok, just don't wake the bear," I warned in a mock serious tone. She gave me a small, forced giggle. I looked back down at my camera, waiting for her to go back inside. After a few seconds I was surprised to feel her fingers in my hair. It was different than when Maureen played with it. Maureen's fingers were rough and demanding, April's were gentle and elegant. She messed up my hair affectionately. I always hated that they all treated me like a little kid. Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the top of the head, almost in a motherly kind of way.

I looked back at her curiously.

"April, are you ok?"

She took a moment to respond.

"Yeah…" she said distantly. She gave my hair one last playful tug before turning to go back inside. I wasn't quite sure I believed her, but after living with Roger and April, I knew better then to question either of them when they got in one of those moods.

"Ok…well…have a nice shower," I said awkwardly. She gave a little wave of acknowledgement over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom.

Once I was satisfied that she had made it to the bathroom and the shower was running, I went back to my observations. I kind of zoned out, distracted by other people's lives. I was finally jarred back to reality at about 7:50 by a grumbling Roger calling out "Good morning Mark!"

"What? Oh… Good morning Roger!" I replied. I quickly, but carefully packed up my camera, and grabbed my empty coffee mug. I hoisted myself up off the floor of the fire escape and slowly climbed back through the window. When my feet finally touched down on the floor, I walked over to the "kitchen" to drop my mug off in the sink. Roger was there pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee. I glanced at the clock. Collins would be back soon.

"How'd you sleep Rog?" I asked, noticing that he looked more disheveled than usual.

"Ok. April couldn't sleep, so she kept me up for a while."

I nodded understandingly, placing my mug in the sink, listening to it clink contentedly against the other dishes. I looked around as I started to head across the room, back toward the hooks next to the door.

"Hey, where _is_ April?"

"In the bathroom," Roger replied casually, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. I stopped in the middle of the living room/dining room.

"_Still_!"

Roger looked up from his coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"She's been in there for almost 45 minutes!"

We both looked at each other worriedly for a few seconds. Roger practically slammed his mug down on the table, coffee sloshing over onto his hands. He wiped them hurriedly on his plaid pants as he dashed to the bathroom door. He knocked on the door softly.

"April? You in there?" There was no answer. He tried the doorknob. Locked. "Fuck!" he hissed. "April, babe, come out."

I could tell he was getting anxious. He banged his fist on the door a few more times.

"April!" I gently set my bag down on the couch.

"Goddammit April!"

"Roger…" I said warningly, taking a few steps toward him. He held up a hand and I stopped.

"I can handle this Mark!"

I decided it would be better for me to just back off and let Roger and April deal with this. So I plopped down on the couch next to my bag, playing with the strap nervously. Something was not right about this; I knew it in my gut.

Roger took a deep breath.

"April…just stop fussing and come out. You know I think you look gorgeous."

We both knew she wasn't fussing, she didn't do that. She wasn't Maureen. I think saying it just made Roger feel better.

"April, open the damn door!" He slammed his palm against the door. Now Roger was desperate. He backed up a few feet.

"Alright, that's it!"

"Roger, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm getting this door open," he said through clenched teeth as he rammed his shoulder against the door. I flinched against the noise.

"One way or another," he finished, more for himself than me. He crashed into the door again. I heard the door frame splinter and winced, hiding my face with my arms. Roger stumbled into the bathroom.

"Jesus Christ, April what-" He abruptly stopped his reprimanding. I craned my neck to try and see what was wrong. For a few precious seconds there was total silence in the apartment, a very rare thing. My stomach was twisting itself in knots. I needed to know what was going on.

With the same force he had used to get in, Roger burst out of the bathroom. I jumped up, startled. Roger collapsed against the wall just outside the door. From a distance he looked like he was going to be sick. He was all doubled over, hanging onto the wall for dear life, his body shuddered violently. As I got closer I could see the silent tears running down his face.

"Roger, what happened!" I asked firmly, gripping his shoulder. He just shook his head furiously. He couldn't get the words out. I stepped past him, toward the bathroom, afraid of what I would see. Roger slid down the wall, landing with a soft _thud_ on the floor. Once I was standing in the doorway I could see her. My breath caught in my throat, it reminded me of when I was the nerdy, blonde, Jewish kid with asthma. But I hadn't had an attack in years. My knees felt weak, I grasped the doorframe and leaned into it, trying to keep my balance.

The first thing I noticed was her eyes, staring blankly at the door. I could understand why Roger had started to scold her, she looked perfectly normal, except for the deep slice in each wrist. Her auburn hair was still damp from her shower; a few tears still clung to her face. One of them barely tickled the corner of her upper lip. Her freckles seemed to stick out more than they normally did; I couldn't tell if it was from lack of makeup or lack of blood. The hint of a smile tugged at her lips. An all-knowing, pleased kind of smile. Blood was smeared against the porcelain sides of the bathtub. Just like April, trying to keep the damn bathroom clean. She hadn't exactly succeeded. One of her arms dangled over the edge of the tub, a pool of blood had collected under it. The walls closest to her were spattered. The whole scene seemed so unreal, like some twisted screenplay. I hated looking at it, but I couldn't manage to tear my eyes away.

I breathed out one word which seemed to sum it all up, "Fuck,"

That was probably only the third time I'd ever said that word in my life. Under any other circumstances, Roger would have congratulated me. After that day, the word became a habit. I use it all the time now.

I kept telling myself not to cry. There were a million thoughts running through my head, but that seemed to be the most prominent. _Don't show weakness. Don't cry._ Even as I told myself that, the tears started coming. My lips tightened, I tried to blink back the tears, but I was unsuccessful. I simply stood in the doorway, tears streaming slowly down my face, unable to move.

It seemed like an hour passed while I stood there, listening to Roger's quiet sobs. But I know it was really only a few minutes until the door slid open with a loud metallic thud.

"I'm baaack!" Collins announced, not seeing us at first. And if he did, he didn't acknowledge it. I heard him kick off his boots and fling his jacket unceremoniously in the direction of the hooks. He most likely missed; I think I heard a muffled thump. The set of keys landed on the coffee table with a noisy jingle. At that point Collins finally seemed to

notice us. He staggered over to Roger and knelt down on the floor beside him.

"You ok man?" he asked, placing a gentle hand on his back. I vaguely remember thinking that Collins was high. How dense could he be? Roger was obviously not 'ok'! Collins seemed to sober up real quick though when he sensed that this was something a bit more serious than Roger desperately needing a hit, and me trying feebly to keep him away from the drugs.

"What happened?"

It was so quiet I could hear Collins tracing soft circles on Roger's back. I felt his concerned gaze come to rest on me, but I stared straight ahead, I couldn't bring myself to say it. Roger finally managed to choke out her name. I heard one of Collins' knees let out a small crack as he pulled himself up off the floor. I knew he was coming in my direction. By then my vision was a little blurry, my hand rose to try and wipe my wet cheeks. I could smell the stale scent of marijuana smoke on his clothes. So he _had_ been smoking. Next thing I knew Collins' dark-skinned hand was on my shoulder as he peered around my thin frame into the bathroom. I think he somewhat knew what he was going to see, he was always good at reading us.

"Damn…" He squeezed my shoulder, grabbing the cracked doorframe with his other hand. Once he steadied himself he pushed me gently out of his way and he stepped into the bathroom. He paused for a few seconds, looking down at April's body with a sorrowful look in his eyes.

"Oh, baby, why'd you do it?" he muttered. Collins looked expectantly around the cramped room. It took me a moment to figure out what he was looking for. Then it hit me, a suicide note.

He spotted it before I did. He carefully tiptoed around the pool of blood over to the mirror. When he reached his destination I started to follow him. He held out a hand, motioning for me to stop. I tilted my head to see the note better; it was just a small piece of paper with a few words scrawled on it stuck to the mirror. Collins stared at it, unmoving. He slowly turned his head toward the door.

"Roger?" he called, his voice shaking. I scooted closer to the wall, tears still clouding my eyes. Roger slowly came around the corner. He grasped the doorframe, still not able to stand. His eyes were fixated on Collins, not being able to look at April. I latched onto his arm for support. He didn't seem to notice, but I knew he did. It was a sign that I was there for him, I think it made both of us feel secure, we still felt like shit, but at least we knew we didn't have to face it alone. Little did we know that this would make all the difference to Roger later on.

Collins plucked the note off the mirror and held it out at arms length in front of Roger. The paper quivered in his hand. Roger pulled me a little farther into the room, and accidentally sandwiched me between the wall and his shoulder, I was still gripping his arm. His free arm reached for the crumpled piece of paper. I stood on my toes and squinted through the tears, over his shoulder. His hand was shaking, just as Collins' had been.

On the paper were three words: _We've got AIDS._

Roger staggered backwards, away from the bathroom, away from April, away from us. My back slammed into the wall with a force that I know Roger did not mean to use. The note drifted to the floor. He retreated to the couch, his crying no longer silent. He picked up his guitar for comfort, clutching it as if it could save him. I hated to see any of my friends like this, least of all Roger. My tears seemed to double, I could barely see. Collins watched Roger helplessly for a few seconds, before turning back to April's body. As he did this his eyes swept over me. He seemed to do a double take.

"What the hell are you doing! Get your ass out of here!"

I remained rooted to the spot, winded from my collision with the wall, and from the news. All of a sudden Collins rushed at me, all I could see was this dark blur.

"I said _get your ass out_!" he yelled. He practically picked me up and tossed me out of the bathroom. "Damn Mark! Do you _want_ to get it!" This was so uncharacteristic of Collins, it caught me completely off-guard.

I tried to stutter a reply, an excuse. An apology. But I couldn't talk around the lump in my throat. Tears rolled freely down my face. They trickled down my neck, soaking into the collar of my shirt. I couldn't remember the last time I had cried, it felt so strange. My hands rose to my face, pulling the glasses away. I tugged on the hem of my shirt, busying myself with drying my glasses so I wouldn't have to look up at Collins. He sighed.

"Oh shit, boy. I'm sorry." He pulled me into a tender hug. I felt a few wet drops in my hair, and I realized Collins was crying too. When he pulled away I could see the wet trails on his dark cheeks, but there were no more tears coming. He couldn't let himself fall apart, he knew we needed him to be strong.

Collins left me standing there and went cautiously over to Roger. He spoke to him in a low, comforting voice, patting his knee.

"Rog? Come on, let's get you into bed." He pulled Roger up off the couch, trying to extract the guitar from his grip. Roger's fingers tightened around the neck of his precious instrument, hugging it to his chest. To him, it was all he had left now. His guitar and his drugs. Collins gave up, draped Roger's arm around his shoulders and helped him to his room.

I stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the wall next to the splintered doorframe. I had all these thoughts whirring through my head, not one of them complete. My feet walked me over to the window seat. I pressed my forehead against the cool windowpane. It was a nice change from the warm tears streaking my face. I curled my legs up to my chest in a scared kind of way. I _was_ scared, I'll admit it. I was scared for Roger. I was scared for April, for Collins, for me. What was going to happen to us now?

There was a split second where I blamed April. Hated her for what she had done. Then I thought back on everything she had ever done for me and I realized that there was no way in hell anyone could hate April. She was always so sweet. She was the only one who understood me. She listened to me when Maureen and I had a fight. She'd give me advice. She got me, which is really a lot more than I can say about some other people.

Then another thought flashed through my head. _It's your fault. Collins left you in charge. You should have been paying attention instead of being wrapped up in other people's lives._ I told myself to stop thinking that, but my brain wouldn't listen. _You screwed up real good this time, Cohen. No wonder Collins was yelling at you._

My glasses landed with a clatter on the window seat. I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head furiously.

"No, no, no, no!" It was the first word I'd spoken since "_Fuck."_ My throat was all scratchy. It hurt to talk. Collins had come out of Roger's room, satisfied that he wasn't going to reach for his drugs to numb the pain. He sat down in front of me, placing both hands on my shoulders.

"Mark? What's wrong?" I thought that was a ridiculous question to ask. It took me a few seconds to find my voice, but once I did, I couldn't stop.

"You mean besides the fact that I just saw my best friend's girlfriend dead in our bathroom! Oh and now Roger's got AIDS, but there's nothing wrong with that! And let's not forget that _I'm_ the one who was left in charge when _you_ went out this morning! So I pretty much _let_ her kill herself! But, no Thomas! There's nothing wrong! I'm fucking fine!" There it was again, twice in half an hour.

Collins looked at me warily, waiting to make sure I was finished before he opened his mouth. I took in a shaky breath. My throat was closing up again. Why was it doing that? I gulped.

"I'm sorry Collins. I fucked up," Make that three times. "I should have been paying attention… I didn't…I-I wasn't…"

"It's not your fault Mark. You hear me? _Not your fault_," He shook my shoulders gently, but firmly. I nodded, and sniffed. The tears were still coming steadily. I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Collins gave me a tiny, closemouthed smile.

"Now, I gotta go call the police. But I'm gonna put you in bed first. Ok?" I nodded again. Collins stood up and before I could do the same he put one arm under my knees and the other around my back, lifting me easily like a little kid. They always told me I was too skinny. I quickly snatched my glasses before he lifted me completely off the window seat. As he carried me to my room my head almost instinctively cuddled into his chest, grabbing his shirt in my fist for a split second. No wonder he always called me "_boy"_, I sure did act like one.

After some difficulty getting my door open, Collins laid me down on my bed. I rolled onto my side, curling up into a scared ball, knees to chest. Collins patted me softly on the back and left. I stared at the foot of my bed. There, tied around the bedpost was my scarf. The blue and white striped one that April had given me for Christmas last year. I reached out and unwound it from around the post. I sat up for a brief moment, snaking it around my neck. I didn't care if it was the middle of March. I didn't care if I was going to get hot. All I wanted was to wake up and have this all be a dream. But I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that it wasn't.

I lay back down again, hugging my knees to my chest. I felt the scratchy wool against my neck. It absorbed the warm, salty tears. The tears now ran crisscross along the bridge of my nose, across my cheeks, onto my lips.

I stayed there crying alone in the dark until the police got there. They needed to talk to me and Roger. After they left I had another hour before Maureen showed up with her desperate, tearful cries of "_Marky!"_ Benny came home a little while after her, in shock.

That was the beginning of the end of our family. Benny went to Allison's almost every day, until one day he packed up his things, and never came back. At least not to live with us, just to collect the rent. Collins sightings also started to become less frequent. He started tutoring more, thinking of getting a teaching job somewhere. He wanted to move out, we could all sense it. Maureen started sleeping around. I'm sure she had done it before, but now it became a regular thing. A family member was always in the hospital, a best friend needed her for emotional support every other weekend. Her mother's cat died _six fucking times_. Roger and I were the only ones always around. He started using heavily after April's simple funeral. He almost overdosed a few times. Sometime in April, he asked me to help him. That was when I decided to take matters into my own hands, for real this time. I was determined to get him off heroin. I didn't want to loose him. I _couldn't_ loose anyone else. I didn't want to walk into his room one day to see him sprawled out on the floor, needle still in his arm. As for me, well, I think Roger put it best when he said I started to detach. I became numb. I hid behind my camera, it became almost a permanent part of my arm. I used it as a shield from the world. Life was safe behind a camera lens, no one could hurt me that way.

April was the person that really helped to keep us together. Her death was like pulling a thread in a rug or a scarf, and watching the whole thing unravel in your hands.


End file.
